


hot for your mouth

by the_boy_and_his_wolf



Category: Sterek - Fandom, Stiles x Derek - Fandom, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon compliant until season 2, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Character(s), POV Derek, Pack Family, Pack Meetings, Witches, badass!derek, mild violence, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:41:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5324324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_boy_and_his_wolf/pseuds/the_boy_and_his_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Stiles' oral fixation is the bane of Derek's existence, but it might take a near-death experience for him to realise that maybe there's a thin line between infuriation and infatuation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hot for your mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Ok. So I had the start of this in my drafts for an age, and then I came home from the library early today, all ready to finish my literature review which is in for FRIDAY, but then I started writing this and my degree was shot to hell. 
> 
> Note: Derek and I are one with our love of Stiles' mouth.

       Stiles has an oral fixation. And, like most things about Stiles, it infuriates Derek. Like right now, Stiles is playing a board game with the rest of the pack, and the drawstring of his hoodie is being aggressively chewed. Sometimes, when Stiles opens his mouth in shock at some progress in the game, the drawstring falls from his mouth, but Stiles just dangles his tongue flicking it in the general direction of where it fell until he catches it and bites down his teeth to keep it in his mouth.

Derek has been watching this happen for the best part of twenty minutes, and when he finally takes in his surroundings he sighs deeply. He has accidentally created a house party for a group of teenagers, he realises. The realisation pisses him off, because if anyone knows Derek then they know that what he doesn't love, particularly, is social gatherings. Especially social gatherings that include seven eighteen year olds playing Clue on his dining table, and getting overly excited about finding out whether the murderer is Professor Plum with a dagger or an iron bar but completely ignoring the fact that there are actual real life people – well, not entirely human people – but actual real life _things_ that could murder them with their fucking eyes closed because these kids are a bunch of idiots.

 At least to begin with it was a party being disguised as a pack meeting. At least Scott and Isaac were putting out some suggestions about what they were going to do about their most recent unwelcome guests into Beacon Hills. Albeit drunkenly. (Derek curses Jackson for telling them about a place in London that sells were-beer. And especially for sending it to them in bulk.) But then Stiles brought out the Clue board – where it had been packed in his bag, because obviously Stiles wasn't taking this thing seriously at all. Despite the fact that Stiles was the most breakable out of all of them. Yeah, so the Clue had come out and all pretence of this being an important Pack Meeting had been forgotten.

So Derek waits, quietly, broodingly, watching them all with a scowl as they progress through the game. It’s not until Stiles is punching the air in victory and making Isaac chug a beer because of his incorrect guesses, that Derek decides to speak up.

 “Are any of you going to address the issue at hand here?” he asks. “Or are you just going to carry on playing board games like a bunch of five year olds? Because if so, can you go and do it _somewhere else_.”

 “Aw come on, sourwolf, you can join in the next game.” Stiles is grinning. He’s also absentmindedly running the damp drawstring of his hoodie across his lips. His grin is a slightly drunken one, and one that fades quickly as Derek snarls at the suggestion of playing _board games_ with these _children_. “OK, maybe not. I still say we burn them at the stake."

Lydia rolls her eyes. “We’ve progressed slightly from the 1600s, I think. Besides, there is no way you would be cool with putting a young women on a stake and listening to her deafening screams as you burn her alive.”

Stiles whines a bit at that, and Lydia grins as him, and pats his cheek condescendingly. Derek’s eyes linger for a second too long at the contact of her thin, pale hands on Stiles’ cheek. His eyebrows furrow at the slight graze of her purple-painted fingernails grazing one of Stiles’ moles as she pulls her hand away.

When Derek tunes back into the conversation at hand, Isaac is discussing the ways of humanely getting rid of the witches. “We should make a deal with them, find out what they want, let them have it and then they go back to wherever they came from.”

 “We know what they want, Isaac.’ Erica says dryly. “They've already taken three of them.”

 “Exactly!” Stiles says, shivering visibly. “And despite what Lydia says, I think I could very easily be down for burning the bitches who’re _cruel_ enough to feed on the heart of eighteen year olds who have not even had the pleasure to experience sex yet. If they had any inch of human decency they would kill the ones who aren't virgins. Because no one should go before they've had sex. No one.”

A laugh bubbles out of Erica’s glossy lips. “This one is very close to Stiles’ heart, right bud?”

 “You could say I'm slightly concerned about falling into the desired category, yeah.” Stiles grimaces.

 Derek finds himself looking at Stiles thoughtfully. Thinking about how now would be a very helpful time for him to get laid. Also thinking about how this probably confirmes that Stiles isn't seeing anyone at the moment. Also thinking that he probably shouldn't feel at ease knowing that, especially when being an eighteen year old virgin could very easily result in his death, if they didn't find a way to sort these witches out.

 “It’s such a dumb concept.” Lydia sighs. “Like virgins are sacred or something. Like sex is this big thing which makes the heart less clean for witch consumption. Maybe we should burn them at the stake, since they clearly have the ideals of the seventeenth century.”

 “I love it when you talk social justice to us.”

 “Shut the fuck up, Stiles.”

 Scott, who’s been watching the conversation thus far very intently, eyes wide and serious, starts to nod to himself. “Isaac is right, though. We need to find out why they’re taking the hearts, why here, why now and what for.”

 “Do we? I think we should just find the fuckers, kill them and be done with it. I'm not so cool with the waiting game, to be honest.” Stiles uses his mouth to bite the top off another bottle of beer and Derek closes his eyes in frustration. Because, firstly, why does Stiles use his mouth for _everything_ , there is a perfectly good bottle opener on the table, and secondly, why is he insisting on getting drunk when there are witches who want his _heart_?

 “You’re right Scott,” Derek starts, and the pleased look on his face doesn't make Derek’s heart melt slightly. It doesn't. “We need to do some research on the witches, find out if there’s any way we can deal with them before they kill anybody else, but we also need to know how to kill them if it comes down to it. Witches are seriously tricky. They’re magic, surprisingly. And magic is hard to fight a lot of- _Stiles can you just open that fucking thing with a bottle opener_?!”

 Stiles opens his mouth around the bottle he’s been working at with his stupid human teeth, eyes wide with shock, because Derek has just fucking growled at him, and his lips make a small popping sound on the neck of the bottle. Derek swallows and feels heat running up his neck because everyone is looking at him incredulously.

“I don’t understand why you’re even here! You’re just playing games and drinking beer and cracking jokes like this is some college frat party. You’re not even pack, for fuck’s sake.” Everyone is looking at him. Even Boyd who has been completely and utterly uninterested in everything all night. Erica looks amused and it makes Derek want to flip a table.

Scott starts murmuring something under his breath about how Stiles _was_ pack, but Stiles is just looking at Derek, for ages. Well, what seems like ages and is probably more like moments.

“Alright fucker,” Derek feels his shoulders relax a little when Stiles finally speaks, and when his voice doesn’t sound even remotely offended. If anything, it sounds amused. And Derek is back to wanting to flip tables. “I know I’m not pack, but neither are Allison and Lydia and you’re not saying anything to them. So I’m forced to believe this is a personal attack, which, _ouch._ I'm hurt Derek, truly.”

“No, you’re not.” Derek sighs.

“Nah, I'm really not.” Stiles has the audacity to grin and Derek feels like he’s about to wolf out. “You need me, you all need me, and just because you can’t see that doesn't mean I'm going to put my best pals in grave danger by denying them of my awesome life saving ideas. So you’re just going to have to put up with me, Grumpy.”

Allison titters, and Isaac full on laughs (Derek thinks it’s out of relief that there’s no tension, because Isaac hates tension), and then Stiles opens his beer with a bottle opener (finally, _Jesus_ ), and takes a swig. Derek watches his Adam’s apple bob and sighs deeply before turning to slump on the couch. Already Stiles is suggesting another game of Clue and Derek wonders why on earth this kid has such a fucking death wish.

 

They all leave at about three, none of them entirely steady on their feet. Derek might worry about them being able to get home safely, if he wasn't so pissed off with everyone. And if Boyd wasn't with them, looking permanently ready to kill a man. But mostly the pissed off thing.

Stiles calls back from down the hall of the apartment block Derek lives in. ‘See you tomorrow, Derek, for another pack meeting. ‘Cos you fucking need me.”

Derek just rolls his eyes and closes the door on the sound of drunken tittering.

 

       The pack meetings carry on like that for the next week. Scott, Allison and Isaac usually arrive first, and that’s when they get the bulk of important things sorted. For all Derek chastises Scott, the kid knows what is needed from him. So far they've learnt that the witches are using the heart of virgins to give to their Master. Scott actually managed to sweet talk one of the witches into telling him that. The witch had seemed pretty scared and it became obvious that the Master was controlling her. However she lost her nerve and wouldn't tell them who the Master was, or when the next kill would be. Allison suggested that the manipulation of the vulnerable witch was probably their next step forward, and Scott reluctantly agreed.

Erica and Boyd always arrive next, and are always more focussed on the ways to kill the witches than anything else. They spend a lot of time fight training and not much time doing anything else.

Lydia and Stiles always arrive last. Lydia is usually filled with useful information, like, for example, the fact that witches can’t easily cast a spell on werewolves. Their healing process means that any spell needs to be much more powerful than it would on a human, and even then will have a short-lived effect.

Stiles, however, arrives full of beer and sarky jokes. Derek is never sure whether he wants to smack the shit-eating grin off his face, or just sit back and admire the way he looks like he is _glowing_ when he wears it. He usually decides on the former as soon as Stiles starts talking.

It’s when Stiles arrives without a single trace of a smile, and what looks like half of the library in his arms that Derek knows the witches have killed again.

“Ready to take this seriously now?” he digs, and immediately regrets it when Stiles doesn't bite back, but instead nervously chews his lip and dumps all the books on his table.

“I took this seriously before, OK?” Stiles said quietly. “I do tons of research, when I'm on my own. I just get distracted when we’re all here.”

“Then why do you insist on pack meetings?” Derek frowns.

“I don’t know… it’s nice.” Stiles shrugs, presses his lips together and sits down on a chair, his head immediately in a book.

Derek watches him for a few moments, watches him worrying his index finger between his teeth, watches his eyes move from left to right at a pretty incredible pace across the pages of the book, watches him sigh in frustration when he comes up with nothing.

Scott must have been watching him too, because he leaves Allison’s side and claps Stiles on the back.

“We’re not going to let them take anyone else, Stiles.” Scott insists. “And, listen man, we’re definitely not going to let them take _you._ ”

Stiles rolls his eyes a bit as he looks up to Scott. Derek is happy to see a trace of the usual sarcasm on his face. “You think I'm worried about being the next virgin to kick it?” he shakes his head and laughs. “I'm not that self-indulged, man. I mean, yeah, it would be great if someone could just like _do me_ so that I'm off the hit-list, but I'm much more worried about all the eighteen year old virgins out there who aren't aware of what’s happening. The ones who don’t have a pack of burly werewolves on their side.” He bumps Scott’s shoulder, grinning. Then his face falls. “We _knew_ Becca, dude. She sat in front of me in Math. Whenever she peer marked my tests, she’d put ‘good job!’ at the bottom with a smiley. And now she’s fucking dead.”

Derek is once again distracted by Stiles’ mouth, but it doesn't infuriate him like usual. Now he’s focussed on the slight down turn of it, and the way he keeps pressing his lips together and shaking his head slightly, as if to steel himself. Then suddenly he’s standing right above him, putting a firm hand on the back of the other boy’s neck. He doesn't miss the surprised stutter of Stiles’ heart.

“We’re going to work out how to stop them, Stiles.” He says, squeezing his hand slightly before pulling away.

“Of course we are,” Lydia chimes from across the room, looking at Derek, Scott and Stiles huddling by the table with a curious look on her face. “I've found one of the witches. I did some research, and I've been tailing her today. She’s unhappy with everything, I can tell. I heard her on the phone with someone she called ‘Master’, and she was distressed.”

“What was she saying?” Derek asks. 

“That she didn’t want to do it, that she knew it was her turn but she knew these people and didn't want to cause them harm. Her name is Adelaide Parker.”

Isaac sits up a little straighter. “Yeah, I know her. She used to do the gardening at the graveyard.”

Stiles snorts a little. “Unexpected profession for a witch.”

“I don’t know, the flowers always grew suspiciously quickly. One time she grew sunflowers in _November._ They were the best sunflowers ever.”

“Unexpected use of supernatural talent.”

“Flowers are nice,” Isaac pouts, and that makes Stiles laugh. Derek likes it that Stiles is laughing now.

“Isaac and I should go and talk to her,” Scott pipes up. “Get some information.”

“I want to come, too.” Lydia says. “She was… sweet. And scared. I think I can break her.”

“Um, OK, maybe try not to ‘break her’, Lydia.” Stiles frowns. “But good idea.”

“I’ll go back to mine and get some weapons.” Allison says, which makes Stiles roll his eyes excessively. “Shut up, Stiles.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face tells literally a thousand words.”

“Oh, _literally_ a thousand words, does it? I just think it’s a bit premature for you to be getting weapons from your dad’s stash of supernatural-killing appliances. You realise we have werewolves with us, right?”  

“I think it’s a good idea,” Boyd says, and Erica nods reverently.

“Well of course _you guys_ do. Anything for a blood bath.” Erica makes a noise that can only be described as ‘offended’ and Stiles sighs. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “I'm just not that thrilled at the idea of this witch, who uses her magic to grow _sunflowers_ in _November_ being killed because this absolute bitch of a Master is forcing her to do things she doesn't want to do.”

“You guys go and get the weapons,” Derek tells Allison, Boyd and Erica. Stiles turns to look at him, looking like Derek just kicked his puppy.

“Thanks for the backup, man,” he mumbles.

“Stiles, if we get the information from Adelaide that we need, we’re about to breach a whole coven of witches, including the Master. The weapons are a precaution in case we need them. We’re not going to hurt anyone we don’t have to, OK? And I'm not going to let any more innocent people be killed.”

Stiles nods and smiles a small but genuine smile. Derek’s chest feels tighter in his chest, because he’s used to the cheerful grins and the sarcastic smirks, but he rarely sees this vulnerable, tentative smile, and this one had been directed just for him.

 

       An hour later of being left alone with Stiles, and Derek is about ready to climb a wall. He knows Stiles is just nervous for his friends, and is anticipating a big result tonight, and he knows that anxiety paired with excitement and determination is not something that bodes well with him, what with his ADHD, but the kid won’t stop _chewing thing._

At first he’s just chewing his fingers and his lips. Then he picks up a pen from the table and pops it in his mouth, chewing the end of it, pulling it out slowly whenever he needs to say something. And ‘needs’ is the correct word, because Stiles cannot seem to shut up for the life of him. Between the constant mouth occupation, and his nervous chatter, Derek is quickly going crazy.

“What even kills witches?” he asks, pulling the pen out of his mouth with a small slurping sound. Derek is in the kitchen making food for them, because if Stiles is refusing to stop putting things in his mouth then it might as well be something of nutritional value. “Did we work that out yet? I mean, I'm pretty convinced that if you guys get all, you know" he gnashes his teeth together "they’re not going to survive it, right? I mean if you do the whole ‘I'm going to rip your throat out. With my teeth’, even witches don’t stand a chance, right? And how many do you think there’s going to be? Because I have all the faith in the world for us, we’re awesome, but how many witches is in a ‘coven’ of witches. Ten? Fifty? A hundred? Because if it’s a hundred then I'm concerned.”

“ _Stiles._ ” Derek pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Yep?”

“You know when you ask a question, it’s required that you give someone a chance to answer.”

“Sorry man,” Stiles grins. “I'm talking too much, shoot. Reassure me.”

And then Derek is thinking of how badly he wants to reassure Stiles. How badly he wants to be able to do something, _anything_ that is likely to calm him. And, just for a minute, his mind winds up thinking of hot breath on flushed necks, firm grips on soft skin and of how his mouth on Stiles’ would be a sure-fire way to keep it successfully occupied.

“Ah great, dead silence. Good job, Sourwolf.” Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Werewolf strength is enough to overpower any physical strength of the witches,” Derek says, focussing intently on stirring the bolognese he’s making. “Our issue is that they’re quick to cast all sorts of spells that could disrupt our ability to use our physical strength. That’s why Argent’s weapons are a good idea, because if we can get to them from a distance, they won’t be able to so easily use magic on us. As for how many, I'm not sure. Typically, there are thirteen witches in a coven, but that is an outdated concept. My hope is that because this Master is probably doing some seriously powerful magic with the hearts, she’s sticking to the number thirteen as a precaution.”

Stiles seems relieved. “You guys can take thirteen, easily.”

He stands up and walks over to where Derek is cooking, the proximity feeling uncomfortable since Derek has definitely just had a vivid sexual fantasy involving the two of them. He’s grateful that there are no other werewolves present to witness the way his heart picks up when Stiles pulls himself up on the kitchen counter and leans over Derek with a spoon to steal some of the sauce. Grateful that Erica can’t laugh at the way arousal curls off him when Stiles catches some of the sauce on his chin with his tongue.

Stiles swallows hard. “You alright, Derek?”

“Hm?” Derek’s eyes are still lingering on Stiles’ mouth, and when they flick up to catch soft brown eyes and notices they’re twinkling amusedly, he internally curses himself. “Yeah. I'm good. Get a plate.”

They eat, and Stiles rambles on about nothing and everything. He talks about school and how the whole supernatural thing is definitely having an effect on his English grades. He frowns about how his dad keeps coming home with tell-tale signs of eating fast food. _Like who does he think he’s kidding, really? He may dispose of the burger wrappers, but there’s always unused ketchup sachets in the glove compartment of his car. Honestly, I don’t know how he made it as the Sheriff when he misses things like that._ He laughs about Boyd and how he’s both ‘so obvious yet so emotionally constipated’ about his feelings towards Erica.

Derek spends the whole time listening, making comments when necessary, and cursing himself for making spaghetti. Because of course Stiles can’t eat spaghetti without sucking it up like a child, making his cheeks hallow out and Derek’s eyes widen, without getting sauce on his wrist and having to lick it off before casually carrying on with whatever he’s saying.

It's almost a relief when Scott calls him, panicking, asking for his help.

 

       Twenty minutes later and Derek and Stiles are standing outside an abandoned warehouse in the outskirts of Beacon Hills.

“Not so cliché as them being naked around a fire in the middle of the woods,” Stiles whispers. “But still really fucking cliché.”

Derek smiles, because only Stiles would be making jokes when they’re about to come head to head with a coven of powerful witches.

When Allison, Boyd and Erica arrive, Allison’s heart is hammering in terror.

“They have them?” she asks.

“Not exactly,” Derek explains. “Adelaide told them where the base was but just after they arrived so did the whole coven. The witches don’t know they’re there, as far as we know.”

“What’s the plan?” Erica asks, her fangs coming out mid-question.

“We can't do anything from out here.” Derek says, frustrated. “This is the only entry, I've checked. It's the reason Scott Isaac and Lydia are trapped in there.”

“So I guess we have to just go in and - you know-“ Stiles makes a noise with his mouth and a hand gesture that suggests an explosion.

“Um. My personal preference is that Stiles, eighteen year old virgin, stays the fuck away from the coven of witches after exactly that criteria.” Erica says, and Stiles' growl is a very close imitation of something supernatural.

“Well, hey, my personal preference is that Erica shuts the fuck up.” 

“Stiles,” Derek says, slowly. 

“Don't!” Stiles hisses. “I know you're about to say she's right, and don't you fucking dare. I know I'm not pack, I know I'm just a dumb human blah blah, but you. Fucking. Need. Me.”

“It's not about any of that-” He really wishes he hadn't told Stiles that he wasn't pack. When this was over he was going to have to take that back.

“Listen, Derek,' Stiles turns to directly face him, his eyes sincere and pleading. “I will go _insane_ out here on my own. I will literally panic so hard that I die. I just... I need to be with you. All of you. You guys.”

Derek is torn between his instinct to protect Stiles, and his understanding of the need he has to go with them. 

“Maybe,” Allison says, tentatively. “Maybe Stiles being there will be a good distraction. If they do try to get him for his virgin heart, it will only distract them from us. Right?”

Derek snarls. “You want to use him as bait?”

“No! No, of course not. Stiles - no.”

“Kind of sounds like you want to use me as bait, Ali,” Stiles teases. 

“ _No_. I just mean that if they _do_ happen to go after you, it will only give us more chance to kill them. Maybe. Or, actually, that's stupid. You should stay here, Stiles.”

“No. Derek, no, she's right. Please, come on.”

The panic in Stiles' eyes is what makes him relent. He sighs and nods quickly, unashamedly grabbing Stiles' wrist like he's a child about to cross a busy road and Derek is his overbearing supervising adult. Derek doesn't care, he needs to keep him safe.  
  
It's clear as soon as they enter the building that this is a trap. It just takes Derek a fraction of a second too late to realise. Instantly there is a flash of blue light which makes all the werewolves buckle on the floor, it feels like their skull is being crushed. Derek keeps the initiative to pull Stiles down with him, trying to keep him protected in whatever way he can. The pain only lasts a minute, but in that minute Derek feels Stiles being pulled out of his arms, and it terrifies him. 

By the time the pain ends and the werewolves are back on their feet, Stiles is tied on a metal pole in the middle of the room, an unlit fire below him. 

'Oh my _god_ ,' Stiles says, his voice light and sarcastic, a contradiction to the way his heart is humming in his chest. “You remember what I said earlier about these guys being cliché but not the _most_ cliché? Yeah they now hold the title of The Most Cliché. They're about to burn _me_ at a stake.”

A witch, who Derek assumes is the Master, because she has blue light crackling around her like an aura and she’s holding a jar of four hearts, cackles. “I don't know what is more boring,” she drawls, addressing the eleven other witches. “The screaming and begging of the first four, or the try-hard sarcasm this pathetic specimen is using as a defence mechanism for his crippling fear.”

Derek hates how well she's reading Stiles. Because his sarcasm _is_ a defence mechanism, it always has been. And maybe as the years have passed it's also grown to be an integral part of his personality, but it still comes out the strongest when Stiles is scared or anxious or sad. 

“We needed a live fifth virgin for this to work, and you've basically handed him to me on a plate.” The Master’s blue aura crackles more excessively at her glee. “I've got to thank your nosy redhead”, she says, and one of the witches who has Lydia captured laughs especially hard, as silent tears fall down her cheek. “For listening to the exact conversation we needed her to, and we have to thank Adelaide, for playing the part of the Unwilling Victim so well, but mostly I think we have to thank the whole werewolf pack for being _so incredibly dense_ as to bring a human virgin into a coven of witches after exactly that. We knew he usually worked with you guys but, really? This one you couldn't convince him to sit out on?”

“This isn't a fucking Oscar’s speech, Jesus Christ.” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. 

But Derek knows she's right, and he knows that if Stiles doesn't get out of this alive he's going to hate himself forever, for letting pleading doe-eyes distract him from what he knew; that Stiles, skinny, defenceless _Stiles_ wouldn't be safe here.

He needs to do something, and fast. But he knows he needs something to distract the witches for a second, needs them to wait too long to cast the skull-crushing spell so that he has his chance. 

“Now, first thing first, the whole coven needs to taste the blood of the Innocent.” the Master says, voice purring over the word 'innocent' and making Derek feel sick to his core. He should have had sex with Stiles when he had the chance. He would have hated finally giving himself to Stiles under such desperate circumstances, but he wouldn't hate himself as much as he’s going to if Stiles doesn't come out of this alive.

The Master says some words in a language Derek doesn't recognise, and her long nails turn an electric blue, then she steps up on a platform to reach Stiles, and runs her nail down his chest, eliciting a whimper from his lips that is enough to make Derek want to go for it, to risk it all just to rip that bitch’s jugular out by hand. But he knows, for Stiles’ sake, that he needs to wait, and silently begs that the others know this too, despite how ready to pounce they all look. 

The Master takes twelve vials from a small stall in the middle of the room, and steals a little blood for each. Derek can't look at Stiles' face, he's so scared he's going to find betrayal in his eyes. So scared he doesn't know that they're going to save him, they just need an _opportunity_. 

_Trust me, Stiles, please God, just trust me._

They stand in a circle, having dropped Allison and Lydia to the middle. Derek finds Scott and nods once, Scott nods back in acknowledgement.

After chanting the same unknown language from before, all the witches put the vials to their mouths and Scott, Isaac, Erica and Boyd move in immediately, pouncing on witch after witch. Allison takes the chance to sprint to her bag at the entrance and pull out arrows. She shoots Stiles down from the pole and Derek’s body moves quicker than he has the chance to think, and catches him before he can crash to the ground.

The Master screams and the blue flash is back, Derek's head is splitting open, but he's not letting Stiles go this time. The Master approaches him and he grabs her throat, claws out, with the arm that doesn't have Stiles cradled in it, and slashes her throat. The pain dies with the witch, and Derek sprints to the entrance, relieved to see Lydia already out the door. 

No witches follow him, so he assumes that the others have it taken care of. Lowering Stiles to the floor, he sees that the vertical cut down his chest is deep. Deep enough to still be bleeding. 

“Stiles?” His voice is wrecked, his panic clearly audible in the way it rasps.

“M'ok, Derek. Just. Take me home.”

“You can't go home like this, your dad-“

“No, to yours. Take me to yours.” 

“You're losing a lot of blood. We need to go to hospital.”

“I can stitch him up,” Lydia says. “I figured it would be useful to learn how.”

“Yeah. That. I don't want my Dad to worry.”

Derek looks at Stiles’ face, at his slowly closing eyes, then looks at Lydia whose face is tear stained and pale, but whose eyes are steely and determined. “You have stuff with you?”

“In my car. Come on.”

Lydia and Derek run to her car, a short way from the warehouse. Derek has Stiles in his arms and the more limp he feels the more Derek's stomach clenches, and the tighter he grips him. 

It occurs to him whilst they're in the car that he should check the others are safe so he rings Scott, who tells them that all the witches are dead, and he's in the process of burning them. 

“That's good.” Lydia says. “Some of things they were saying before you got there… I got the impression that they don’t have any family except for each other. And, trust me, none of them were innocent. They already killed the one who talked to Scott.”

Derek nods tightly. He listens for Stiles' heart and feels reassured by the distinctive beat but panicked by the amount of blood over both of them.

“Hurry Lydia,” he pleads. She catches his eye in the rear-view mirror and nods. 

“Derek,” Stiles says slowly, licking his lips. Derek realises that he's probably dehydrated and it makes sense, but he still has a part of him that's damning Stiles' mouth for working the way it does even in this situation. 

“Yeah, I'm here,” he says. 

“I'm going to be OK.” Stiles insists. 

“I know.”

“You're all worried.”

“Well, _yeah._ ' Derek is exasperated. Why is Stiles trying to calm down him down, when he's not the one bleeding out? 

“Lydia is awesome, I'm going to be ok.”

Turns out he is right. On both counts. Lydia _is_ awesome. She's professional, and clear-headed, putting on sterile gloves and taking the time to heat the needle. She says soothing things whilst stitching him up, but Stiles still spends the whole times biting firmly on his lip, his hands gripping the table edge that he's lying on. 

Derek feels sick, watching him in so much pain, but is reassured by how competent Lydia looks, he's also scared of approaching them in case he accidentally claws Lydia's face when she makes Stiles wince, or, perhaps, kisses Stiles' mouth to stop him clamping down on his lip so fiercely. He wasn't in control of himself. He would do something stupid.   
  
Derek lets Stiles sleep afterwards, reassuring the others when they came to see him that he was fine, but tired and needed his rest. Scott, of course, went to see him anyway, and Stiles woke up seeming brighter than was expected in the circumstance.

“You guys were great,” Derek hears him say. He doesn't mean to listen, but their voices are the only noises in the loft. “I thought I was a goner. There was a moment when I just looked at all of you, looked at all the witches and thought _there is no fucking way I'm coming out of this._ But, as always, you continue to surprise me in your talent of killing bitches.”

“We weren't going to let you die,” Scott says, as if it was simple, but Derek had smelt the fear coming off all of them in the warehouse, knows that none of them had felt as confident there as Scott sounds now. “It was horrible waiting like that but we had to, you know? We were all so tense to just get you, but we knew we had to wait. And Derek- God. His heart, man. And I could smell the anger and fear coming off him in _floods_. I was worried that he wouldn't be able to function when we needed to.”

“But he did.”

“Yeah, he did so _good_. Did you see how quickly he sprinted towards you when Allison shot you down? I know we're quick but I didn't think we were that quick.”

“Yeah, yeah I did.” Stiles' voice is full of something, and Derek wants Scott to go so he can find out what it is. 

They talk for a minute longer and then Stiles says he's kind of tired, so Scott takes the hint and leaves, but not before pulling Derek in a hug.

“Thank you.” He says, voice gruff. 

“It was a team effort.”  Derek shrugs, embarrassed 

“You got him out of there. You didn't hang around to make sure all the witches were dead, like Erica and Boyd, or to make sure we were OK, like Allison. You and Lydia, you got him out of there. Thank you so much.”

Derek nods, and walks Scott to the door. 

He is putting on the kettle to make tea when Stiles sulks out of the bedroom to join him. 

“I thought you were tired.” Derek says.

“Nah.” Derek raises his eyebrows in question. “I love Scott, but I kind of wanted to be alone.”

 “… You want me to leave you alone?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You're a dumbass. No I want _you_ to make me a hot chocolate.”

“OK, well the kettle is boiled, so.”

Stiles grimaces. “For the love of God, I want a hot chocolate with _milk_. You heathen. And cream, if you have it. Also. Marshmallows and sprinkles.” Derek raises his eyebrows, again. “I've been through shock!”

And he has, so Derek makes the hot chocolate, the way his mom used to make them for him and his sisters. He makes one for himself too, but gives Stiles the last of the whipped cream. 

He takes it to the couch where Stiles is curled up under the throw that Derek usually keeps on the back of the chair. For appearances. His hair is all soft and fluffy, his eyes sparkly, and when he takes the drink his smile is tired but seems happy. And Derek suddenly, or maybe not so suddenly, if he’s honest, feels so much fondness for the boy in front of him. So much relief that he’s here, and safe, and happy.

Though he could do without the way he’s using his tongue much more than necessary to drink a hot chocolate.

He licks cream from his upper lips and grins. “Who knew Derek Hale is a secret hot chocolate fan.”

“My mom used to make them. I haven't had one in years.”

“My mom did, too. Must be a mom thing, huh?” Stiles says softly. “Dad can't do them the same, so I had to pick up the bill. Yours is a pretty close second to hers, actually.”

Derek smiles. “Thanks.”

It's silent for a minute and then Stiles takes a big gulp of his drink and says, “Hey, thanks.”

“Stiles, do not.” Derek shakes his head. “I shouldn't have let you in there, and there was no choice but for me to bring you out alive. You’re pack Stiles, forget what I said before. You’re as much pack as any of us, we all know that. You don't have to thank me for anything.”

“Fine, fine. Then well done. You were fucking awesome, man.” Stiles grins. “I keep replaying it in my head, and if I wasn't the one you were saving and, like, losing severe amounts of blood, I would have cheered so hard at your performance.”

Derek snorts. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome, man.”

They fall silent again, and Stiles dips his fingers in the cream and licks it off. Then he pauses and does it again. Then again. And Derek can feel the familiar heat in his stomach at watching that pink, plump mouth. 

 _"Stiles.”_  He hisses, after far too long of just watching. “Can you fucking stop?” 

Stiles looks baffled for a second, and then grins. “You have a thing about my mouth.”

And, what the fuck?

“I noticed last week when you told me to stop biting the beer bottle. Your face went all red. Like right now. It's cool, dude. I have a pretty mouth, you don't need to be embarrassed.”

“It's not pretty,” Derek growls. 'It's _annoying_. It drives me up the wall. Why do you need to have something in your mouth _constantly?_ You know most people use their hands for half the things you use your mouth for.”

“My mouth drives you crazy.”

“ _Yeah_ , it does! It’s aggravating as hell.”

“It sends you into a frenzy.”

“An _angry_ frenzy.”

“My mouth turns you on.”

Derek is about to protest but then he thinks that shutting Stiles up in other ways would be much more appeasing than arguing with him. So he sets his mug down, leans forward and kisses the arrogant smirk right off that ridiculous mouth. Stiles drops his mug in surprise, but Derek catches it easily, huffing a laugh onto smooth, warm lips. Stiles gets over the shock as Derek scoots up the couch to get closer, he grabs his waist and kisses back, and Derek isn't laughing any more because feeling Stiles kiss him like this is - God, it's like a weight has been taken off his shoulders, it feels like relief. 

Stiles has so much heat radiating off him, his face is burning under Derek's touch, his heart jack-rabbiting, and he moans low and needy when Derek bits on his lip. 

“Jesus Christ, Stiles,” Derek breathes.

Stiles smiles and lifts his warm hands under Derek's shirt, light fingers tracing muscle, before wrapping tightly around his back. Derek goes to do the same, and then remembers the stitches and his hand stops just short of it. 

“Hm. I know,” Stiles complains. “It's going to be a gross ugly scar.”

“That's not- I just forgot about it for a second.” He looks at Stiles' face and lets out a long breath. “Nothing could make you ugly, Stiles.”

He laughs. “Oh really? Nothing? But what if I had boils all over my face. Or my nose came off in battle, like Tyrion Lannister?”

“I don't know who- never mind. You're beautiful Stiles. Do you know how fucking beautiful I think you are? How distracting I find you?”

“Yeah, you're hot for my mouth, I know dude.”

“Not just - damn you're so hard to compliment.”

“You're just too emotionally stunted to complement me.”

Derek grits his teeth. “I really. Fucking. Like you.” He grumbles. 

“I really. Fucking. Like you, too,” Stiles grumbles back, mocking him. Then he leans in and lays one hand on each of Derek’s cheeks, thumb grazing his cheekbones. “And it really kind of sucks that we can't have sex tonight. Because Lydia said 'no vigorous movement' because of my stitches.” He pouts, literally pouts and Derek is so fucking done with Stiles and how cute he is.

He swallows hard. 'We, ur, we don't have to be vigorous.”

“No?” Stiles grins. “I don't know, seems to me like you're a vigorous lover.”

Derek slides a hand to the back of Stiles' neck, and relishes at the way his eyes flutter at the contact. He leans in really close and kisses him softly. “I'm going to fuck you,” he whispers against Stiles' mouth. “So slow”' He bites Stiles' plump lip and there's that moan again combined with a full body shudder than makes Derek’s insides twist. “But so _so_ good.”

All sarcasm is gone and Stiles is just nodding. “Fucking hell, Derek. Ok, do it. Fuck.”

And Derek does, learning along the way that there are lots of things Stiles does with his mouth. All of which infuriate him in the best possible way.  
  
  
  


     

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Remember: comments help me to improve, so tell me what you liked, and what you didn't. I'm always so tentative to publish my fics, because my writing is far from polished, but I want to improve and I guess acquiring readers is one way to do that. 
> 
> come and cry about these perfect idiots with me on [ tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/the-boy-and-his-wolf) My Sterek blog is pretty new and I need friends.


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